The Lucky Seven
by FlamingRavenclaw
Summary: A NoochZahHutt One-Shot. Reality isn't what it seems. Watch your step before you trip. It hurts when you fall. Trigger Warnings: mental illness.


**April 18, 2015**

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, but either way, they were the best friends a guy could ask for. Being able to wake up at any time of the day or night and find someone waiting online to play some DOTA, or record a video, or just talk about the meaning of life… How could anything else compare? We were all so close and so connected that it was almost like we were different parts of one person, one whole. We were always together and we always would be. I wouldn't trade this for the world.

More than that, I couldn't choose between them. Do you know what it feels like to love six different people equally? Do you know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally, no matter what happens or how you feel inside? We were the Lucky Seven, the Pack-Plus-One, and no matter how you spin it, we were perfect. Sure, they naturally fell in line as Vikklan, Merome, and Poofless, but what could be better than the occasional Vikklanooch, Merooch, and Poochless? Every once in a while, I could even persuade Lachy and the Bacca to have a little fun with me on the side. It's a shame that Preston is so jealous and possessive – even me doing a one-on-one Skype session with Rob puts his boyfriend on edge. Yeah, they all have their problems, insecurities, and quirks, but I love them all the same.

We're a family. We help each other through the hard times and we tell each other everything, which brings me to my current predicament: they don't know about Brandon. I know that I should tell them, but I'm afraid of how they will react. He… He's a little different. He's a little out there. He says he knows who I really am and that he's here to help me get my life back together. My life is fine as fuck. Like everyone else in my offline life, he doesn't think that YouTube is a real career. He wants me to smash my keyboard and walk away from the six best things that have ever happened to me. I can't do it. I won't do it. I refuse.

* * *

 **May 2, 2015**

He always wears a suit and tie, and he always carries that lime green laptop with him everywhere. Sometimes I think he's writing down what I say so he can tell the Pack behind my back, but I never say anything bad about them. Let him do it.

I asked him about it once and he said he was writing a book about me, that he would change my name if I wanted him to so no one would know it was me. I want to tell him to stop… but he works so hard and he's so sweet. He bought Pizza Hut for us today when he came over to watch me play DOTA, and he actually took notes when I was trying to teach him how to play.

I might have my own ship name soon.

* * *

 **June 25, 2015**

After two months of nagging, Brandon finally talked me into letting him meet someone from the Pack. I spent a couple of days thinking it through, and I decided that Vik was the safest option. He isn't too crazy and I know he can keep a secret. Brandon was really fascinated by his accent and he asked him three or four times where he was from. Vik sounded a little annoyed, but Brandon is a nice guy, even though he's really fucking weird sometimes. I thought it went okay.

Maybe we can be the Magic Eight instead of the Lucky Seven.

* * *

 **June 30, 2015**

It's a shame NoochZahHutt isn't as close as Poofless or Vikklan, or even Merome. The closest we have ever gotten to a date is a pizza party for two; meanwhile, Preston forgot to turn his webcam off when Rob dropped in to visit him last night. My ship with Brandon only exists on-screen when we record together, but Rob sat on a plane for five hours so he could surprise Preston for their two-year anniversary.

All Brandon cares about is his fucking book. I want to smash his laptop with a pickaxe, but I know he has the files backed up somewhere.

I wish he loved me back.

* * *

 **July 21, 2015**

Why can't I be attractive like Mitch, or funny like Jerome, or charming like Preston, or intelligent like Vik, or creative like Rob, or lovable like Lachlan? They all have character and personality and chemistry… All I have is a stale pineapple mushroom pizza in the fridge.

All I do is push people away. I have never been good enough. I will never be good enough.

I never should have trusted him. Rob was right – he didn't understand.

* * *

 **July 22, 2015**

I miss him. I wish he would come back. I promise I won't yell at him about that damn book anymore.

* * *

 **July 23, 2015**

I tried to call him on Skype again today. He still won't pick up. I haven't seen him since Saturday. I feel empty without him here, even though the Pack has been here for me through all of this.

How can I feel so sad and alone when I am laughing and talking with six people?

* * *

 **July 24, 2015**

I give up. He wasn't worth it, anyway. I threw the moldy pizza away and ate Chipotle with Lachlan over Skype. Watching him moan with a mouthful of burrito can make any day better.

* * *

 **July 25, 2015**

I don't need him.

* * *

 **July 26, 2015**

I don't need him.

* * *

 **July 27, 2015**

I don't need him.

* * *

 **July 28, 2015**

I don't need him.

I don't need anyone.

The Pack is all I need.

* * *

 **August 2, 2015**

Brandon came back today, with a large supreme pizza and two big plastic bottles of chocolate milk. He said he was sorry for leaving. He said he didn't want to hurt me and he just wanted to give me some space so I could cool down.

I told the Pack about it. They said I shouldn't trust him. I don't want to trust him, yet I still do. I want this to work, but he's pulling the Pack apart. I can't take it anymore.

* * *

 **August 4, 2015**

Brandon and Jerome are the only two who will talk to me now. Everyone else is too pissed off to even answer my Skype calls. Why can't they just be happy for me? I finally have my own ship, and I don't have to worry about Preston or Mitch castrating me in my sleep because their boyfriends serve me pity sex on a golden platter.

I really like him.

I want him all to myself.

I could get used to this.

* * *

 **August 10, 2015**

Mitch is gone. His Skype is gone, his videos are gone, even his picture on my desktop is gone. No one else remembers his name. It was like he was never here.

Jerome has a girlfriend now. He says he always had a girlfriend.

What is happening here?

* * *

 **August 13, 2015**

Preston won't talk to me anymore. We patched everything up after our argument over Brandon, but now he won't acknowledge my existence.

I asked him how he was holding up after Rob finally flew back home…

He snapped.

He stared.

He screamed.

He cried.

Then he hung up.

Why didn't anyone tell me Rob died last year?

* * *

 **August 14, 2015**

Vik called me this morning to tell me the news.

Preston is dead.

He went to the shooting range last night and used himself as a target.

At least he died doing what he loved.

Rob would be proud.

* * *

 **August 19, 2015**

Jerome and I have grown apart. We barely even talk to each other anymore. I tried to call him this morning but he wouldn't pick up.

I guess the Pack doesn't matter to him anymore.

Brandon said it was natural for people to grow apart, even best friends.

I still miss them.

All I have left now is Vikklan.

* * *

 **August 21, 2015**

I had another Chipotle Skype date with Lachlan today. Vik was too busy to join us, and Lachlan was too sad and out of it to be much company.

I miss the good ol' days when the three of us were always together and ready to record.

Wasn't there someone else, too?

I asked Brandon if he could think of his name, but he just shrugged and scrolled through his notes.

He told me that I never said anything about a fourth guy.

Maybe I need to sleep more.

* * *

 **August 25, 2015**

It gets boring here, in this little white room. They have a TV on the desk in the corner with a keyboard in front of it, but what good is that? What the hell do you even call that? The keyboard doesn't even have a USB cord on it. I guess they were afraid I would try to hang myself with it.

I'm two seconds from dying from boredom.

I wish I had friends.

I wish Brandon would get here soon.

He always makes the time go by faster.

* * *

 **August 28, 2015**

I told Brandon that the black spots on his laptop make it look like a face. He didn't think it was funny.

Every time I look over at him, I see it staring back at me. I could have sworn I'd seen that green face somewhere before. But where?

There was an angry red and yellow one, too.

Maybe it was a dream.

* * *

 **Case File #2877**

 **Mathew Nucciarone**

 **Age: 21**

 **Diagnosis: Tentative diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder (seven distinct personalities), moderate-intensity psychotic episodes with severe detachment from reality.**

 **Notes: Requesting confirmation of diagnosis from Dr. Dota with renewal of 10 mg Herobrine once daily, extend admission through September 15, 2015 to monitor symptoms and reaction to treatment, enrollment in group therapy for socialization.**

Mat was truly one-of-a-kind. His was a once-in-a-lifetime case study, a re-embodiment of Shirley Ardell Mason from the 1970s. He was a walking collection of life-like, relatable characters; a marionette with seven different voices, different accents, different lives. He wove a story so detailed, so realistic, that even he had a hard time drawing the line between his mind and reality. He was lost in his own fantasy world with six imaginary friends who he could not only talk to and hold conversations with, but who he said he had met in person and had even had sexual relations with. He claimed to record gameplay of games that didn't exist for a website that didn't exist with people who didn't exist on a computer that didn't exist.

All of that disappeared with one pill a day and a shoulder to lean on. Mat was really just a lonely guy who had survived a horrific past against all odds. The hallucinations, jumbled conversations, invisible video games, and one-sided arguments were gone, living on only through the tapes from the hidden cameras in the air vents of his room. He might not be fit to walk around the outside world yet but, for the first time in his life, he actually has the chance to. He can be a participating, healthy member of society instead of a grungy lost puppy living in the bushes along the side of Crafter Road next to the Mining Co. Burger House. He can finally live his own life to the fullest instead of a fraction of seven lives. Mat can finally just be Mat.

Sometimes I wonder if erasing his fantasy world was the best course of action. Did I break him by trying to fix him? I swore an oath to do no harm, but he isn't the man he was before. He is an empty shell with vacant eyes and emotionless words, staring into space for hours at a time. By giving him a life, I took his entire life away. He doesn't remember anything. All he knows is that he is alone. He wants me to support him, reassure him, love him like his forgotten friends did, like the world never did. I can't fall in love with a patient. That would be immoral, wouldn't it? Do I let him drift back into warm, sweet madness, or do I hold him in cold, harsh reality? Who am I to play with him like this?

I stare at the case summary at the top of the page for several minutes, torn between the enraptured glance of a man with the universe at his fingertips, and the haunting gaze of a man with nothing in the world. I backspace the notes section and correct my short-sighted, cold-hearted, medicalized evaluation of Mat. I have made up my mind, no matter what the costs might be.

 **Notes: Requesting confirmation of diagnosis from Dr. Dota. Patient does not respond to traditional treatment, shows adverse reaction to Herobrine and other atypical antipsychotics, recommending further evaluation and extension of admission through September 30, 2015 for continued observation and ongoing treatment through individualized counseling.**

Mr. Nooch would be happier here among friends than he would be in a subsidized housing project downtown all by himself. Since when was it pathological to live your greatest dreams?


End file.
